Clean Up
by KKBELVIS
Summary: Sam goes postal in a motel room. Angst both boys. Tag 4:22 Lucifer's Rising.


CLEAN UP

By: Karen B.

Summary: Sam goes postal in a motel room -- Tag 4:22 Lucifer's rising.

Disclaim -- Do not own anything but my obsession for dreaming. Thank you for reading!

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The last seal had been broken. Sam and I couldn't stop destiny. We had froze, like a couple of rabbits knowing they were about to be snatched up by the claws of a hawk. Lucifer was coming, slithering out of hell, only to whore around this world like the brainless dick he was. The light grew hotter by the moment, before our skin could melt off our bones I grabbed hold of Sam. The only way not to get murdered by hell -- was to get out of hell's way. I drug Sam along, fleeing from the collapsing building and laid down tire tracks, driving fast and far away from the convent. The rough play had turned Sam and I upside down, but I kept driving. Past motels. Past diners, gas stations, cornfields, and two really cool looking adult video stores.

The piece of shit car running on empty finally forced me to pull into a gas station, then a motel. Sam hadn't said much of anything since we'd left the convent and he looked really beaten. Killing Lilith wasn't the golden moment either of us thought it would be. Only two good things came of this day. One, Sam was alive, and two -- Ruby wasn't. Jamming a knife into that demon bitch, without question from Sam as he held her steady -- priceless.

After checking into the motel, I'd unwillingly left Sam sitting near catatonic in a chair to make a food run. White Castle was the closet place, only ten minutes down the road -- hamburgers served twenty-four hours. I quickly ordered twenty miniature cheeseburgers, two large fries, and two cokes -- no ice.

Heading back to the motel felt like it was taking much longer than the original ten minutes. The smell of sizzling onions and pickles wafting out of the white paper bags was making me nauseous. I was worried. Sam was on the brink, having retreated into himself, pulling inside, not talking. I needed to get back to him fast. So many things had happened in the past few days. Things I wasn't sure how we were going to fix , but for right now we both needed to eat, and rest. Picturing Sam's broken, unstable look, I pressed hard on the gas determine to make the trip back to the motel in five. I'd failed Sam. Turned my back on him when he needed me the most. Said things I shouldn't have said. Done things I shouldn't had done. How did my baby brother go from the wide-eyed kid, who couldn't stop clinging to my jacket long enough to go to Kindergarten without big brother walking by his side, to a man standing on the edge of hell. Because of me. I allowed him to stick it out with Ruby, turn addict, pushed him away, sent him off on his own to become some demon bitch's killing machine.

"Damn me!" I smacked a hand hard to the steering wheel, bringing the crap car up to fifty.

I was so sick and tired of Sam and I being at the mercy of heaven and hell. The Winchester brother's -- everybody's puppet.

"No more!" I white-knuckled the wheel.

Sam wasn't the only one who was sorry. One thing I knew for sure -- I'd never leave my brother to die -- never again

Sam was still, Sam. He was no monster -- Lucifer was. He was my brother, and I wasn't going to treat him like anything less. We would stop the big 666, some how. Sam, and I, we'll kill Luci and carry his mangled corpse off the battlefield -- bloody and dead -- together.

I pulled into the Sunny Ray Motel, thinking things were every which way but sunny, gathered the carryout bags and headed to our room.

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"Sam," I called looking down, and carefully stepping over the salt line. "I hope you're starving." I glanced up. "Because… what…the…fu***!?" I honed in on my brother standing in the center of what used to be a cheap motel room. His arms hung at his sides, fists clenched, shoulders rising and falling in time to his fast, heavy breathing.

Kid must have had a massive adrenaline rush. The room was destroyed, busted up beyond recognition. The short time I was gone, Sam had renovated the place. Broken legged chairs, upturned tables, curtains torn from their rods, bedding shredded into nesting material, glass coating the carpet from a broken mirror. Even the toilet lid looked like Sam used it as a battering ram; putting a large hole in the television screen cracking the porcelain top in two.

I took in a deep breath, desperate to get my surprise under control. I'd expected a quiet, catatonic Sam sitting exactly where I'd left him -- staring blankly at a black television screen. Not a crazed, overly emotional Sam, running wild on the room. What an idiot, I bit my lip not wanting to say the word out loud. Although, I did understood his frustration and was glad he was getting his feelings out. Holding that much rage inside -- would kill him.

"I see you had at it while I was gone." I set the carryout bag on an upturned chair, continuing to inspect what was left of our room. "That's a good three hundred dollars in damages. You get whatever was in your system out?" I bent down to pick up a blue glass lamp that miraculously survived Sam's storm. "The walls are still standing." I hiked a thumb over my shoulder. "You know, I have an axe in the trunk. If you want to finish the job and gut the place down to the studs," I laughed lightly, not feeling funny.

"I'm sorry, Dean, I'm sorry. Here." Sam raised a pair of silver handcuffs. "You better cuff me to something. You can't trust me."

"What? No! No-way! I did that once, and it nearly killed me."

"You have to, Dean." Sam opened the cuffs about to slap one of the bracelets around his wrist.

"That's it!" My turn to run wild. "You idiot!" I said the word, heaving the lamp across the room and smashing the glass into a million pieces against a table. "Look!" I stalked back and forth not sure what to say or do coming to stand by one of our upheaved beds. In Sam's redecorating , he'd tipped the mattress end to end against the window. The material was cut to ribbons, cheap foam and springs poking up through the stained cover. "You do know dissecting mattresses is illegal in this country." I tired to lighten the mood, but I felt a hot flush of anger race through me. Sam was blaming himself, but it was just as much my fault as it was his.

"I was the only one who could do it." Sam stood frozen, scared, amazed, sick. Like he was looking for something. The way he looked at the covent when the floor had cracked open, hell breaking loose.

"Sam!" I flipped the mattress to the floor, but not before balling a fist and putting a hole in the wall left of the window. "Snap out of it!" Sam didn't flinch or budge from his spot in the center of the room. I stalked over, pulling him across the smashed shag carpet and plopping us both down on the dirty mattress. "You looking for forgiveness or some shit, Sam?" I gripped his forearm when he tried to stand. "No, you sit and you listen. Hear me good." I ripped the handcuffs from his hand winging them across the room to land near the lamp. "Non of us our picture perfect." I turned to him. "You're not the only one, little brother, who wins the screw-up trophy. If anyone owes anyone it's…"

"Dean." Sam hung his head, hands clasped in his lap, trying to keep them from trembling. "I'm a horrible person. I trusted a demon." Watery, tired eyes glanced up to meet mine. "For craps sake, I slept with the bitch. More than once."

"Sam." I shook my head.

"Dean. I'm a monster, a sucky brother, a selfish bastard who doesn't know right from wrong, heaven from hell. You…"

"Sam!" I clasped his hands, squeezed hard trying to get the trembling to stop.

"No Dean." Sam stiffened but didn't pull away. "Hear me out," his voice shaky as he continued. "I lied to you over and over. Hurt you every chance I got. There's so much…" he swallowed. "…And there's nothing…nothing I can say to change any of that. I don't deserve your forgiveness. Don't you ever forgive me!" The trembling in Sam's hands moved through his whole body. So hard, and so fast, I thought he might be having another one fo his withdrawl seizures.

"Dude, chill," I said calmly.

"I can't! Damn it, Dean, don't you see? I don't deserve anything. Don't deserve you as a brother." Sam averted his gaze." But I want you back." He lowered his voice. "As my brother." Sam twisted away.

"Sammy." I gripped his chin and made him turn back to face me. "Look, man," I said softly. " I was wrong, too. So caught up in my…"

"Dean," Sam cut me off, shaking his head. "No, you weren't"

"Bro, I listened to you, my turn to share and care." I gave a weak smile, waiting a moment, needing to make sure Sam wasn't going to interrupt me again. When he didn't I continued, "I was so caught up in my righteousness, listening to the angels, ignoring what was going on with you. Maybe I was afraid to know. Maybe I thought if I let you go it alone, you'd figure things out. Maybe…" I sighed. "No, not maybe -- we both got the shaft, neither one of us getting to play hero. Getting to feel all warm and fuzzy inside over killing Lucifer. Dude, being sorry for letting the fallen dick out of his meat cage... isn't' going to cut it." I pointed a stiff finger to the ceiling. "With him. Sorry is just a word, Sam. And it's not even a big enought word, so, stop saying it."

"Dean." Sam reached urgently for my jacket, fisting a handful of leather. "I made a mistake, trusting Ruby."

"Me too, Sam. Angels don't always dwarf demons. I made a mistake, too." I put a hand to Sam's shoulder. I could see in his eyes the genuine desire to make amends. We both needed to make amends. The world was our stage to set. Taking the first step meant cutting the strings that bound us like puppets. Leaving only two strings left, the string's brothers hold tight to. "We're going to take responsibility for our mistakes. Sam, I'm not going anywhere, and we both need to forgive ourselves. We have a lot of work to do. Hell's not going to be easy to bring down…trust me." I winked. "I've been there."

"Friggin' hilarious," Sam hissed, but nodded his agreement, still trembling and looking more than exhausted.

"Not really" I put a hand to the back of his head, bringing him down to rest on my shoulder. "No more lip service, bro," I breathed in his ear. "Sorry won't change a thing. We live in a world of action. What we say matters, but what we do…Sam, what we do -- matters more. We're going to clean this mess up," I choked, staring around the broken room that was just as broken as our lives. "The same way we fucked everything up. Together."

"Okay, Dean," Sam murmured, like that kindergartener who only wanted me to be by his side -- walk him to his room.

"Okay, little brother." I sighed, I had my Sammy back -- and he had me.

Then Sam did something that doesn't come naturally to us Winchesters.

He cried.

I cried, too.

The end.


End file.
